


I'm Not Your Homeland Anymore

by Squigmistress



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Coming Out, Episode: s04e07 The Barbecue, Feelings, Friendship, Hiking, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Introspection, POV Rachel, Past Patrick/Rachel, Reconciliation, Song Lyrics, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squigmistress/pseuds/Squigmistress
Summary: A journey through Rachel’s pain and loss during The Barbeque followed by her reconnection, and reconciliation, with her best friend.Inspired by the lyrics from Taylor Swift’s album, Folklore.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/Rachel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 61





	I'm Not Your Homeland Anymore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BiblioPan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiblioPan/gifts), [reginahalliwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginahalliwell/gifts), [dazedwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dazedwriter/gifts), [wi22iou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wi22iou/gifts), [Poutini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poutini/gifts), [PandorasDaydream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandorasDaydream/gifts).



> This fic takes place during The Barbeque and spans over time until after Patrick and David’s wedding. I had a bug in my ear when I listened to Taylor Swift’s most recent album, Folklore. I couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick and Rachel. Ideas started to form in my mind. This fic is inspired by the album. I took some lyrics directly from the songs and incorporated them into the story. Others, I shifted to fit the narrative. Have fun finding them all if you are a fan. I can’t say I’m a swiftie, but damn do I love Folklore.
> 
> I couldn’t have done this without the love, care, support, kindness, and vulnerability I have experienced within this fandom. Dear ones, this is for you.
> 
> For PandorasDaydream who gave me community.
> 
> For Wi22iou who reached out, trusted me, and became my friend.
> 
> For dazedwriter without whom I never would have listened to Taylor Swift in the first place. Thank you for being you, being honest, and always finding ways to spread joy.
> 
> For Poutini - Part of Rachel’s personality here is for you. And all of the vulnerability. HUGS.
> 
> For BiblioPan who inspired me to think outside of the box, consider wider perspectives, and be brave enough to write in the first place. Surprise! I didn’t tell you about this and it was SO HARD. Thank you for showing up for me, for encouraging vulnerability, for your gorgeous boundaries, and your soft heart. I can’t write it all here because there is too much and you are too special. My dear friend I love you so much.
> 
> And last, but definitely not the least, thank you to [ReginaHalliwell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginahalliwell) for beta reading my first ever fic. You have become a dear friend, seemingly overnight, even though it feels like we have known each other for a decade. Thank you for cheerleading, and thank you for responding with pure joy and support when I nervously confessed I wanted to write. I have never met another soul who gets excited the way that I do and to see you get excited about the idea of me writing let me know that it was ok to be brave and vulnerable in this way. Love you, friend.
> 
> This fic was also for my grandpa, who was born at a time when he couldn't be himself for most of his life. And for my grandma, who loved him dearly even though he could never love her the way she deserved. May our children grow up knowing all the possibilities love has to offer.

Rachel stood there stunned after hearing Patrick’s words.

They need to talk.

Ok. 

Breathe. 

They need to talk.

Why is he so angry? What am I missing? She thinks, mind racing. 

From what seems like very far away she thinks she hears Alexis saying, “OH my god!” and then, “um, are you ok?”. 

A gentle touch to her arm. Her eyes slide slowly to her left and she stares into the gorgeous face of her new friend. Are they friends? Something tells her they will be.

“I need to go back to my room”, she says to Alexis. Even her own voice sounds far away. Her heart is racing. She can’t make sense of the intensity of these reactions.

“Will you tell Patrick where I am?” she says, numbly, to Alexis. 

“Of course.” Alexis squeezes her shoulder, almost limply, but it is somehow kind. And she blinks her eyes strangely. Rachel feels some empathy coming from her. Why is that? How is she involved?

Rachel sits on the edge of the bed, terrified and perplexed, for what feels like a long time. She is startled by a knock at the door. Her heart attempts to leap out of her chest.  _ Shit. It’s happening. Did the knock sound angry? Why is he angry? _

_ They need to talk. _

_ Breathe, Rachel. _

Patrick walks in. His face is flat, mouth drawn, shoulders tensed. Rachel can smell him. He smells different. This isn’t how  _ her _ Patrick smells. Like the Old Spice deodorant he had been wearing since eighth grade. He smells fresh, clean, with a hint of pine, maybe amber? It’s lovely. But confusing.

She feels her face go soft. God, he is so handsome. Her heart clenches again. He’s so angry. 

“Why are you here, Rachel?” he asks, impatiently.

“I came for you. I know you. I know you’ll come back to me.”

“What could make you possibly think that, Rachel? What defense do you have to excuse barging back into my life after we haven’t spoken for six months?” Patrick clenches his fists. He is so angry. Patrick doesn’t get this angry. 

“Patrick...I knew you’d miss me once the thrill of whatever this is expired. I knew you’d come back to me. You always have. You always said I was your favorite.” Maybe it’s a low blow, but this is not going the way she thought it would. He always called her his favorite during the best moments. She needs to remind him. She looks down, worried about how this vulnerable memory will affect both of them.

He sighs, and his shoulders deflate a little. “Rach, It’s over. I meant that when I left.”

Her heart skips a beat. He called her Rach. That’s good. He only calls her Rachel when he’s mad. She looks up, hopeful. Instead, she is met with eyes that add insult to injury.

“Patrick, what’s going on? How do you know Alexis? Why are you so angry?”

“Rach. I’m sorry,” he says. His shoulders completely deflate. Patrick falls to his knees in front of her. She feels him touch her knee gently and she looks up. Patrick’s eyes are full of tears. 

“I’m gay,” he says softly. Looking right into her eyes.

She knows it’s true instantly. It feels like her blood is rushing through her veins. Rachel’s breathing speeds up. Her chest feels like it’s going to cave in. 

“What?” she says flatly, as she stares through Patrick.

“I’m gay. I know Alexis because she is my boyfriend’s sister. David. I’m in love with David.” Tears are rolling down Patrick’s face and suddenly she knows. He’s not angry. He’s afraid. He’s afraid to hurt her. He’s afraid he’s lost him. David.

How dare he? How dare he do this right now? She deserves to be angry. To be hurt. 

“IT TOOK YOU FIVE WHOLE MINUTES TO PACK US UP AND LEAVE,” she yells. “You left me. Standing in the hall with all our love. Without any explanation. Just ‘I can’t, Rach. I’m sorry.’” Tears are cascading down her cheeks and she feels betrayed. She wants to be angry. She doesn’t want Patrick to see this vulnerability.

“Rach,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

“Even on my worst day, Patrick, did I deserve this? All this hell you have given me?!” Rachel spits in his direction. He is still on his knees. Looking into her eyes. Not even flinching. Almost as though he feels like he deserves her rage. Rachel falters. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She knows, under all of her burning pain, that he has no control over this.

Rachel sobs. She sobs and sobs. She lets him gently slip his arms around her. 

“I loved you, I swear I loved you until my dying day,“ she whispers.

His voice breaks too. She looks up into his big brown eyes. He’s crying. 

“I know Rachel, I know. I love you too,” he says. It’s like the words heal and crush her heart at the same time.

“You never gave a warning sign,” she says to Patrick. Quietly, feeling a little twinge of shame.

He breathes in slowly. He knows she deserves patience, even if it’s hard to give. “I gave so many signs.” He’s quiet. He waits for her to think.

The silence sits between them. It’s a silence that only comes when two people understand each other. 

Finally, after what is probably only a minute, the longest minute of Rachel’s life, she understands. She somehow starts rearranging a decade of complicated love for one man. She looks back and sees that it was never what she thought it was. Or even what he thought it was.

“The problem was, I didn’t even see the signs. I didn’t know, Rachel. I didn’t understand until I met him.” 

“I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace,” she says. He smiles a small tender smile. Somehow she reflects it. There he is, the man she knows. He’s there. Maybe more in this moment that any in the over twenty years she has known him. “When I’d fight, you used to tell me I was brave,” she adds.

“Rach, you are brave. I’m not. I ran. The worst thing that I ever did, is what I did to you.” 

That statement means more than any apology. That’s the truth. Asking her to marry him, then leaving without explanation. 

Somehow, in this moment, Rachel finds the best part of herself. The part that is currently buried deeply under pain, betrayal, grief, loss, and confusion. She says, to Patrick, “Remember when we used to call each other home? When we would come back together, after some break up, and it would feel like home? That wasn’t a lie, was it? You felt it too?”

Tears roll down his face. “No Rach, it wasn’t a lie. I love you. Just not in the way you need your husband to love you.” 

She knows now. She is furious. She’s furious at him for not knowing he’s gay. But she knows why that happens. How that happens. Under there, in the best part of her, is empathy. Grief for him. They both lost a decade of their lives trying to be something to one another that they could never be. 

“Patrick, I think there’s always been some invisible string tying you to me. And I’m not going to try to cross out the good years. But they mean something different than I always thought. Our love is something different. Or it will be. I need time.”

Rachel breathes. Patrick is still sitting on his heels, below where she is seated on the dingy motel bed. He opens his arms to her and she falls in. She breathes the unfamiliar smell. The new Patrick. She is grateful for the difference.

“You’re not my homeland any more,” she whispers to him. Rachel hugs him tightly, rocks back on her heels, looks him in the eyes, then places a timid kiss on his cheek. She stands, grabs her purse and keys; she hadn’t even bothered to bring her bags in yet. It’s like part of her knew she wasn’t staying.

“Rachel, where are you going?” Patrick asks, worried. 

“I can go anywhere...just not home” she responds, and shuts the door behind him. Rachel only half notices a stern woman in plaid approaching her motel room door as she backs out of the parking lot and drives away.

***

Patrick is left in the motel room, stunned. He has just come out. He hasn’t even said those words to David yet. Well, he hasn’t said a lot of things to David yet. He knows now he can’t tell him he loves him. Patrick runs to the bathroom and vomits. He hasn’t even told David he’s gay.

Stevie stands outside the room. Face flat. Looking like she would bloody her knuckles for David. He is her best fucking friend goddamit. If Patrick hurt him the way those assholes in New York and wherever else rich assholes live so help her god. Her fists clench as she hears the doorknob turn and she looks up, eyes unblinking.

Then, she sees his face. Patrick is wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He has obviously been crying and he is not trying to hide it. He looks her straight in the eyes and says, “I put her through hell, Stevie, but I can’t regret it. I’ll never regret the journey that brought me to heaven. It’s him, Stevie. David is my home. Please don’t let him forget that”, and walks away. 

Well shit. She always knew she liked that guy. 

Stevie hears heels clacking towards her and sees Alexis running (Holy shit she’s running, limp wrists and all). Stevie smiles. “Ohmygawd, Stevie, what did he just say? Where’s Rachel? Did he leave with her? What are we going to do? Poor David, ohmygawd, Stevie!” 

Stevie smiles. Alexis scrunches up her face and looks at her, confused. Stevie is so grateful for her chosen family. “Ok so, you can’t ever tell him this on pain of murder but, I see your brother as my brother, ok? And Patrick is living and breathing for him. And David deserves that. And we won’t let him forget it, right?”

Alexis smiles, blinks with two eyes, boops Stevie’s nose, and responds, “Right!”. before flipping her hair and clacking her heels down to her room where she starts banging on the door and hollering “David! David, let me in!”

***

Rachel drives about two miles out of town before she has to pull over. She screams at Patrick. She screams at the world. This isn’t fair. Why did she have to get stuck in the crosshairs? Her heart feels shattered. Her tears fall so hard that they almost ricochet off the steering wheel. She cries for what is probably about an hour but feels like an eternity.

As her breath begins to still, she reaches for her water bottle, and lets out a huff of laughter as she realizes it’s the one Patrick gave her for her birthday. The one she always uses on hikes. It’s like he’s everywhere.

She closes her eyes and sees his face in front of her. The face filled with tears. The blue button up. She realizes it's the same one he was wearing the day he left. Some people wouldn’t notice, but she can tell all of his stupid blue shirts apart. Blue. Always blue.

“Patrick,” she whispers, “You’ve beaten my heart. But I don’t want any other shade of blue.” Rachel rests her head on the steering wheel and closes her eyes. She thinks about her cousin coming out to her when they were seventeen. Her friend from college who drunkenly told her he was gay at a party. He always seemed to be suffering and had died from an overdose ten years later. She thinks of her grandad. Patrick knew about her grandad and his partner. Some of the queer folks she has known who were brave enough to come out. She is aware of how they suffered or were in danger, even when they had love and support. The fear her cousin had on her face when she told Rachel she was queer. Rachel had thought she did a good job being an ally.

She remembers that ever since she and Patrick were seven years old his parents had been making “look at his little girlfriend” comments while hers had said, “they are destined to be together.” Rachel’s heart breaks again. In a different way. 

Patrick never had anyone let him know there were many ways to love. Patrick never had a parent tell him he could love a man. They did their best to communicate what love and joy looked like. And he tried to achieve it. God he tried so hard. And he failed. 

She is so broken because of his failure. 

But damn if she isn’t glad he failed. She deserves so much more. He does too.

She deserves more colors than blue.

***

As Rachel pulls into her place, she checks her phone for the first time after the long, silent drive. She has a text from Patrick. Taking a deep breath, she unlocks her phone.

Patrick: Please let me know you made it home safely.

She thinks about how to respond. The wound is still so deep and fresh. She can’t continue to ruin herself, a million little times, over and over, trying to be his friend right now.

Rachel: I’m home and safe. Thank you for your honesty. Keep that up, it’s the only way for you to be who you are. I’ll get in touch when I’m ready.

She locks her phone and holds it to her chest. She lets more silent tears fall down her face. Boundaries hurt. But sometimes you have to bleed a little to grow. She smiles through the tears and notices a sense of loving warmth in her chest. That’s the ember she needs to stoke. She unbuckles her seat belt and heads inside to take care of herself.

***

About two weeks after his “surprise” birthday party, Patrick receives a large padded envelope in the mail. His breath catches as he sees the return address. It’s from Rachel. David is on his way over for dinner and to stay the night and Patrick’s grateful. He can’t imagine opening this package without David. Just as that thought passes his mind, David is walking up to the building. 

“Hey, is that for me?” David asks with a playful smile and a little shimmy of his shoulders.

As Patrick looks up, David’s whole demeanor changes. David sees Patrick’s pale face and tense shoulders.

“Oh hey, what’s going on? Is everything ok?” he asks.

Patrick hands him the package and says, “It’s from Rachel. Will you please stay with me while I open it?”

“Of course” David says, as he wraps the smaller man up in a hug, long fingers wrapped around his neck, and kisses his head. 

Patrick takes a deep breath of David. His home. His everything. He thinks of the four gold rings he has stashed in the back of the drawer that holds his old, ratty, comfy sweats. This is a drawer of clothing he knows is so offensive to his boyfriend that he’ll never find them. He squeezes David’s torso, before loosening the hug and grasping his hand as they head upstairs to open the package.

Patrick opens the package and finds a long, slim white box and a sealed envelope with his name. He opens the box and finds a dozen  [ sleek, black pencils.  ](https://blackwing602.com/products/blackwing-set-of-12) He can’t help but breathe the scent of the wood deeply. He takes a pencil out of the box and admires it. They remind him of David.

“Oh, those are Blackwing pencils. I love those. They are the ones I use for sketching. Although I prefer the 602 for writing. She has good taste.” 

Patrick laughs. Of course they remind him of David. He has a couple of boxes of these that he hoards and refuses to let anyone else use. Patrick has been stuck with his trusty Ticonderoga pencils for notes and strategy before committing them to spreadsheets.

He feels David take the pencils out of his hand and set them on the couch. David’s arm snakes around his back and squeezes his shoulder. 

“Why don’t you open the letter? I’m here. It’s going to be ok”, says David gently, as he places a soft kiss on Patrick’s temple.

Patrick rips the envelope and unfolds a letter. He places it between him and David so they can both read it at the same time. He doesn’t feel like he can read it alone, or aloud.

_ Dear Patrick, _

_ I don’t think I’ll ever forget your love of pencils. I was recently given a box of Blackwings and thought of you. I have been working through my own box, and realized they reminded me of David. I know I only saw him for a moment, but these pencils are like a combination of the two of you in my mind. Practical, comfortable, stylish, beautiful. When I could think of the two of you and feel peace, not hurt any more, I took that as a sign that I was ready. I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m here. I just wanted you to know that this is me trying. _

_ I ran into Marcy last week at the grocery store. She was so kind and checked in on how I’ve been doing. I’m so glad you told them, Patrick. You deserve to have their full love and support. She had tears in her eyes and she apologized to me for not being the parent you needed her to be. She apologized for how that affected me. Honestly, it meant a lot. But, it's more important she says that to you. I hope she said that to you. _

_ Remember when we were seven, in the trees, and we would swing over the creek, but I was too scared to jump in? I think those are the moments of truth in the love we have for each other. That’s where our love was what it was always meant to me. Without influence; like a folk song about hot summers, laughter, hide and seek, swimming holes, and ice cream.  _

_ The last time we saw each other, I told you there was some invisible string tying us together. I want you to know I still have love for you. The string is still there. Can we start with letters? It’s old fashioned, I know, but aren’t these pencils so lovely? A letter is like a little gift.  _

_ Anyway, I hope you can hear and feel what I’m trying to say. You could never give me peace, and that’s ok. I have given it to myself. The devil’s in the details, but I want you to know you’ve got a friend in me. _

_ Love, _

_ Rachel _

Patrick takes a big, cleansing breath, then buries his face in David’s neck and sobs. David strokes his back, neck, and head softly with his strong hands. The smell of David will always calm Patrick. God he can’t wait to give him those rings. He looks up and David brings his hands to Patricks face, wiping tears off his cheeks. 

Patrick smiles and allows himself to say something he is terrified to hope for. “David, it’s like there’s a chance I could have my best friend again.”

David smiles, looking lovingly into Patrick’s face. A glint of humor touches his eyes as he twists his mouth to the side, looks up and says, “Well, then, we can both have best friends who we’ve slept with!”

Patrick’s stares at him for a moment before they both collapse into laughter until their stomachs hurt.

Later in the evening, while David is wrapped around him as they fall asleep, Patrick lays awake. He remembers all of his hikes, trying to work out his feelings for David. He thinks that Rachel has been having a parallel process. But, instead of wading through confusion, excitement, and attraction, she has had to wade through grief, sorrow, and acceptance. Well, perhaps they both have. But in the end, they might just both get to love each other again. In a different way, this time.

Patrick falls asleep with a heart full of hope and a plan to take David on a hike.

***

From the first letter, Patrick and Rachel exchange letters weekly. A few months in, they start texting too. He tells her about the store and texts her pictures of his  _ Cabaret _ costume. She shares some of her sketches and short stories, lets him know her therapist is amazing, and laments some awful first dates she has gone on when she tries out Bumble. Rachel is the second to hear about the engagement, after his parents. She FaceTimes him immediately and offers her sincere joy and congratulations. It’s incredible. He really does have his best friend back.

Months later, with that memory, Patrick decides to invite Rachel to the wedding. If she feels comfortable, he’d like her there. He includes a handwritten note, in pencil of course, with her invitation. He lets her know it’s ok if she isn’t ready, just like when they were seven and she couldn’t jump into the creek. 

When she receives the invitation, she smiles. She imagines herself going to the wedding. She thinks she would be able to feel love and joy. But, she wouldn’t really be able to see Patrick, would she? Weddings are busy and chaotic. She deserves more time with her friend the first time they reunite after that awful, painful conversation in that funky motel room.

She sits down to write him a letter. She will be passing close to Schitt’s Creek only two weeks after the wedding on her way to a backpacking trip. She asks if she can stop in for lunch so they can catch up. 

When Patrick receives her response, he tears it open. He’s so excited and hopeful. He reads her RSVP first and his heart drops before he notices the handwritten letter she has included and feels his heartbeat go into overdrive. Patrick texts her immediately.

Patrick: Hey, just got your RSVP. No problem and I’m SO EXCITED to see you. David just dropped me off at my apartment after showing me the house he put an offer on for us. Rach, we get the keys a week after the wedding. You will be our first guest!

Rachel: He put in an offer on a house without telling you? LOL. You must really love him.

Patrick: Ha! Yeah I do. Honestly, the offer was solid. I was surprised. David doesn’t give himself enough credit. Or perhaps some of my business acumen is wearing off on him?

Rachel: And some of his vocabulary? Who says “acumen” in a text?

Patrick laughs and calls his fiance to tell him the good news.

***

The day of Rachel’s visit, Patrick is like a ball of tension. He trusts the friendship that they have been forming. He trusts her appraisal of herself. But what if it all comes crashing down when she arrives? He wants it to be perfect. He can’t hurt her anymore. The house is a mess, of course. Why on earth would he think they would be unpacked a week after they got the keys? Does he even know who he married? David hasn’t finished mood-boarding the living room. The furniture is all pushed to the middle room and the walls are painted with three almost identical swatches of grey. David insists they have green, blue, and purple undertones. Patrick sighs and says, “Ok, David.” Patrick has complete trust in David’s artistic eye, even if he does not necessarily love the process.

After he has watched his husband move around boxes for ten minutes, David stomps his feet and says, loudly, “Ok, enough of all of THAT,” while he waves an extended arm, palm facing Patrick, in a circular motion. 

“What?!”, Patrick says, “I’m just trying to get ready. Rachel is going to be here in a half hour, David! We have to get ready!”

“Sweetie, the decorating process takes time. We have to let color options marinate. The house isn’t changing today. Go put the kettle on and get that little frittata in the oven. I’m hungry.”

“David, the house is a mess!” Patrick shoots back towards his husband.

“Ugh. SO WHAT? Stevie has been over here drinking our good wine almost every day! Who cares? Rachel has seen you at your worst. She has seen you naked. She has seen you in those god-awful high school baseball sweatpants that are mustard yellow! She doesn’t care!”

Patrick feels like he just got punched in the gut, in a good way. He flops onto a new armchair (damn this is comfortable. How does David find comfortable  _ and _ stylish things?) and lets out a breath, relaxing his shoulders. 

Patrick looks into the eyes of the man he loves, marveling at how he can be so impatient and wise at the same time. “You’re right, David. I love you.” 

“If you really loved me, you’d throw away those sweatpants. They are a true insult to fashion. Even loungewear. Now go make me some bacon,” he says with a swift smooch.

David goes back to contemplating grey paint colors while Patrick busies himself in the kitchen.

***

Rachel pulls up to the house about ten minutes late. It’s a perfect little cottage, right out of a story book. She smiles. This is the house of the boy who broke my heart, she thinks, and now I bring him wedding presents. Rachel grabs the box of BauHaus limited edition Blackwing Pencils she snagged off Ebay for David and the box she has for Patrick. She gets out of the car right as Patrick walks out of the front door. She sees him smile and wave. She walks slowly up the path and stops in front of Patrick.

“Hey, Rach,” he says. He’s nervous. 

Rachel smiles, “Hey, Pat,” and opens her arms. They hug fiercely. Like they did when they were seven and didn’t want to go inside for dinner. Covered in mud. Best friends forever.

“I’m so glad you’re here, come on in,” invites Patrick.

As she walks in, she is welcomed by David. She opens her arms and is wrapped in a soft, surprisingly gentle hug. “Welcome. Sorry for the mess, but art takes time, you know?”

Rachel laughs again. The house smells like potatoes and mushrooms fried in butter and thick bacon. 

“Did you make a mushroom frittata?” Rachel exclaims excitedly.

Patrick smiles, “Of course.”

“It’s my favorite too,” says David.

David opens his gift and shows more excitement than both Rachel and Patrick think any person ever could about pencils. “Ohmygod I missed out on these. The BauHaus limited edition? And you even got the collector case? Thank you!”

Rachel tosses Patrick a small package. He opens it up to find a simple ball of string. He stares at it for a moment longer than you’d expect, then smiles as he looks up.

“String?” He says.

“Yeah,” Rachel smiles. 

So many things go unsaid between them. That same silence falls between them. The one she first felt in the motel. The silence that only comes when two people understand each other. They smile as waves of love and gratitude flow between them.

“Now you can make Julia Child’s stuffed leg of lamb for David. Every kitchen needs string,” Rachel states, with a mischievous smile.

“Wait, what?” David says as he swallows his bacon. “How did we get married without you ever making that for me?!”

Patrick looks at David, then at Rachel, and laughs. 

***

Rachel backs out of the drive after several failed goodbyes, many hugs, and promises to visit again. She is leaving several hours later than she thought she would and she needs to make the trailhead. As she drives down the highway and out of town, she notices that she feels only peace in her heart.

He could never give her peace.

Their best laid plans, together, were a hoax.

But apart, they found peace and discovered what they were meant to be.

When she reaches the trailhead, she texts both Patrick and David a selfie of her eating the last piece of bacon, that David had accused Patrick of eating, and her geolocation, just in case. Because that’s what best friends do. They take care of each other. As she steps on the trailhead, she feels gratitude wash over her. He’s not her homeland anymore. She has created that for herself. But he’s there, connected with an invisible string, caring for her in the way she deserves. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really love Blackwing pencils. This is not a paid endorsement, I just love them.
> 
> I am not sure if the recipe I referenced is actually one made by Julia Child. It was served to me at a holiday party once and I lost my damn mind over how good it was. At the time, I was told it was one of Julia’s recipes. I tried to find a recipe but couldn’t. If anyone has it, hit me up.


End file.
